


To Witness

by pangodillO, Wholly_owned_subsidiary



Series: Newton's Third [4]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Aftercare, BPD Cecil, Carlos is a Good Boyfriend, Cecil is Mostly Human, Cecil is a Good Boy (Sometimes), Cecil: Always Good Partially Boy, Genderplay, I will fight you for nonbinary Cecil, Insecurity, Kink, Multi, Oral Sex, Other, Polyamory, Safewords, Trans Characters, V-shaped Poly, Voyeurism, all Carloses are trans Carloses, earl is a good boyfriend, switch Cecil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 17:27:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7231891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pangodillO/pseuds/pangodillO, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wholly_owned_subsidiary/pseuds/Wholly_owned_subsidiary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The whole point of Earl was supposed to be that he was safe, that he would respect Cecil every way.  Calling them ‘boy’—<i>good boy</i> even, when they’re presumably floating and vulnerable, maybe even nonverbal like Carlos gets, when they maybe can’t and definitely wouldn’t fight back against it—how could he?  How <i>dare</i> he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Witness

“There you are. Good boy. You’re safe now, I’ve got you.”

Carlos pauses outside the bedroom door, having forgotten everything: what he was just doing, what he was on his way to do. Did he really just hear—? The whole point of Earl was supposed to be that he was safe, that he would respect Cecil every way. Calling them ‘boy’— _good boy_ even, when they’re presumably floating and vulnerable, maybe even nonverbal like Carlos gets, when they maybe can’t and definitely wouldn’t fight back against it—how could he? How _dare_ he? 

Carlos is small, smaller than Cecil who is smaller than Earl. Carlos is soft and weak, composed of more fat than muscle. Carlos’ throat closes when he’s stressed or in conflict, and his words desert him at the merest sign of opposition. Carlos so often cannot fight for himself, cannot fight for what he knows is right—but he will fight for Cecil. He will always fight for Cecil. 

He opens the door without knocking, and two faces turn toward him, both blinking in confusion. 

Earl’s surprise quickly gives way to something else, something dangerous. “Carlos,” he says: a warning. 

“Earl,” Carlos answers. “Did you just say what I think you just said?” He’s not looking at Earl, doesn’t think he can; instead he scans Cecil for obvious signs of abuse. They’re wide-eyed, lips parted, looking confused and distressed. The ropes crisscrossing their skin are beautiful, he notes absently. Decorative, rather than restrictive; Carlos thinks about skin and pressure and inflammatory response, and decides, maybe not entirely decorative. 

“Depends,” Earl says, harsh; “did you just walk in on a private scene uninvited?”

“I’m not going to stand by and let you misgender them,” Carlos shoots back. 

Cecil makes a quiet sound, and Earl gives a soft growl and points toward the door. “Outside,” he says. “Now.”

“Cecil—”

“Will be fine alone for thirty seconds, which is all the time I’m going to waste on you. So let’s go.”

Carlos lets himself be herded into the hallway, but no farther. “Okay,” he says. “Explain.”

“You really think Cecil’s gender is as simple as ‘they’ all the time, exclusively?” Earl hisses. “They don’t do _anything_ exclusively. I don’t ever, _ever_ gender them without their consent, so I can promise you that whatever you hear me say to them, it’s what they need to hear. Clear?”

Carlos falters. If it’s true, then he’s the one who’s made the mistake... but while he thinks Earl is honest, he also thinks Earl might be fallible. “I want to hear it from them,” he insists. “I don’t know you. I know them.”

Earl stares at him, hard, for a long moment, then turns on his heel and reenters the room. “Ce, baby,” he says, door left open behind him, “give Carlos a color for me.”

“Carlos,” they echo, blinking at him through the doorway. “Green? Um... White. Do you... Have we...”

“‘White’ means ‘boy’,” Earl says. Not interrupting, Carlos can see. Clarifying. “Yes, Ce?”

“Yes,” Cecil echoes. They shift in their rope, eyes dropping to the floor. “I’m sorry,” they add, biting their lip. “It just hasn’t...”

“It’s not your fault,” Carlos and Earl say at the same time, and then look at each other.

“I’m sorry I interrupted,” Carlos says, already turning. “I’ll get out of the way now. Thank you for—indulging me.”

“Wait,” Cecil says. There’s a pause; out of the corner of his eye, Carlos sees Earl nod. “Stay?” Cecil asks. “Just to watch? I would like you to... See.”

Carlos swallows. “If you’re sure,” he says, and shuts the door, this time with himself on the inside.

He sits in the chair in the corner, out of the way, but with a clear line of sight. He’s not here to get off—he doesn’t think, anyway—but he can’t deny that there’s something compelling about seeing Cecil like this, about seeing Earl with them like this. Seeing Earl crouch to get on their level, cup their face in his hands and kiss their eyes falling closed. 

“Still white?” he asks, voice low, gentle. 

“Yes, sir,” Cecil answers. “And green.”

“My brave boy,” Earl murmurs. “You were so good for me, so patient. Waiting here for me so sweet, looking so pretty in your ropes.” 

Cecil sways in toward Earl, a sweet little begging noise slipping from their open mouth; Carlos can just see the sharp points of their teeth. Earl sees them, too, swipes a thumb across their lips. “Put those away, precious. I want your mouth.”

Cecil’s mouth closes, their throat bobs, and when they bare their teeth at Earl they’re ordinary flat human teeth. “I want,” they say, and then, “Can I—?”

“Keep your teeth dull,” Earl says mildly, “and you can touch as much as you like.”

Their lower lip catches in their still-dull teeth, and their eyes are glittering, pleased and proud and excited, and Carlos considers for a second if that’s what he looks like, on his knees for them, waiting for them to issue instructions or initiate an activity. 

Earl’s expression is definitely a little familiar—a fond, dark half-smile, not entirely unlike the smile Carlos has looked up at countless times. He leans forward, and Cecil presses in for a kiss, and he pulls back, just a bit, just out of reach; he moves forward when they are still and kisses them hard. “Hmm,” he whispers. “Eager boy. Be patient, now.”

Carlos shifts in his seat, wonders if Earl has little scars around his lips, if their kissing is ever sharp. 

“Are you comfortable, pet?” Earl asks sweetly, straightening, trailing fingers down their cheek. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” 

Earl does not undress; he untucks his shirt, removes his belt with a slowness that is acutely teasing, even to Carlos on the sidelines. With the same slowness he unfastens the buttons on the front of his jeans, one, by one, by one. 

Cecil bounces in place, just a bit, but says nothing; their eyes flit up to Earl’s face, then back toward his hand, following his slow and lazy strokes. 

“Open your mouth,” Earl says, quietly, and they comply, making a little involuntary squeaking sound when Earl holds the back of their head, encourages them forward just gently. 

Their movements are slow; both their head and the hand on themself, low noises deep in their throat, eyes open, watching Earl’s slow, contented smile, his little nod of approval.

“That’s good—so good, you’re always so good for me, pet,” he says. “How patient you are, my selfless, giving boy, waiting on your own pleasure until I’ve taken mine. And don’t you look so pretty, on your knees for me, with my cock in your mouth.”

Their hand stills, then moves away, opening and closing convulsively. Their eyes roll back and there’s a little agonized noise, somewhere between a whine and a groan of pleasure.

“Look at me,” Earl hisses, without menace, and a satisfied exhale when their eyes roll open, glassy and bright and absolutely in his thrall. “Good.”

Their hand moves again, slightly faster this time, but just for a second—it’s too much, and Carlos is very familiar with the delicious frustration in their body language, hears Earl’s pleased little grunts at their plaintive, hopelessly aroused moans. 

“You’re so good—hmmmmyes my beautiful boy.” Earl pulls out of their mouth for a second, brushes a thumb over their lips. Then he leans forward a bit, slow and casual, watching them touch, their panting breath. “You look absolutely debauched, precious. My handsome slut, just look at you. Lovely boy. Give me your mouth again.”

Cecil gasps, bites their lip again with flat, safe teeth, moves their hand away. Earl pushes back into their mouth, steady, hand on the back of their head, fingers moving slightly through their hair in the same rhythm as the push-pull of Cecil’s mouth, the strokes of their hand. 

“I love how badly you need this,” he whispers, “just look at you. My special, precious darling, my sweet boy, does it feel good? Are you going to come for me?”

Cecil makes a frustrated noise, just this side of desperate, lets their hand drop against their thigh. Earl is moving with them, thrusting gently, not enough to trigger their gag reflex, but noticeable enough that Cecil’s eyes roll back and close, their sounds high and desperate and absolutely gorgeous. How desired they must feel, how totally needed, the feeling of being taken and used well, of having no responsibilities but their lover’s pleasure—

Carlos blinks heavily, sits back farther in his seat. He’s bitten off a few of his fingernails; his silence seemed important, somehow, and he was so lost in their scene he didn’t notice his fingers moving towards his mouth, his own frustrated shifting. 

Earl is slack-jawed and mumbling things Carlos can’t hear, aside from a word here and there; Cecil’s hands are squeezed into tight fists at their sides, too close to control their hand, their teeth and the rest of their mouth at the same time. 

“Precious—there—” Earl makes an inarticulate sound, low and deep his chest, his hand holding Cecil’s head still. He’s still himself for a moment before stepping slowly back, breathing heavily and watching them with a look of approval.

Cecil smiles, lips together, proud and pleased and just a little mischievous, and then swallows slowly, visibly, _obscenely_. 

Earl laughs, quiet and wicked; he reaches forward and pinches their face between his thumb and forefinger, pushing their head up slightly. “Dirty boy,” he says, not without affection. “And so good for me, so obedient, so sweet and lovely. Would you like some water?”

They shake their head quickly.

“Do you need to move—are you still comfortable there?”

“Stay,” they gasp.

“Do you want to come?”

“ _Yes!_ ”

“How do we ask?” 

Their eyes squeeze shut, hands still tight at their sides. “Please, sir, may I please come?”

Earl kisses them once, quick, then lets go of their face. He takes his time adjusting his clothing, putting his belt back on, smoothing down his hair. Then he sits on the bed, looking at them—that small smile, the quirked eyebrow, an open and comfortable posture Carlos knows well. “Go ahead,” he says finally, when he is situated comfortably.

And he watches them, intensely interested, devouring their pleasure with his eyes, whispering a filthy litany of encouragement (“my precious slut, just look at you—is that what you wanted? Is that good? Hmm, you were so hot for it, weren’t you, and aren’t you beautiful there on your knees, showing off for me?”) And they are so close, they are gasping air in soft sounds, pushing back against their hand as their head drops back—

“Wait.” 

There isn’t even a sound of complaint; they are just still, aching, neat rows of sharp teeth clenched together with the struggle to keep still when they are this close; they may be tearing but it is difficult for Carlos to tell at this distance. 

Earl stands up, walks around them in three paces, then crouches next to them. “Come for me, boy,” he hisses into their ear. And their hand barely moves before they do, crying out in relief, and now there are definitely tears and a few shaking breaths while Earl quickly undoes the knots and pulls them into his arms.

He kisses wherever he can reach, murmuring soft and steady, things Carlos can’t hear, but he can guess at them—praise and love and reassurance. 

After a minute, he says, “I need to get you on the bed now, kitten. Can you stand up for me—I’ve got you—okay, shaky legs, my sweet baby, I’ve got you. Sit—no, honey, water first—good—slow down, sweetness, okay. Good. Lie down. There were are.” 

They are not quite sobbing, but they are close, right on the edge of and trembling; he pulls them close against his chest, peppering them with kisses. “How good you are for me,” Earl is saying, “how lovely, precious darling. Breathe slow for me. You’re alright. I’ve got you. I’ll always take care of you, because you’re always so good for me, aren’t you? Aren’t you my sweet one?” He keeps talking as they nod against his chest. “Right. So good for me. So sweet.”

“G-grey—!” they choke out, weakly, muffled against his chest. 

Earl nods, rubbing soothing circles on their back, doesn’t miss a beat in his talking, and Carlos wonders if he’s been forgotten. Should he say something? Clear his throat? Sneak out while Earl has his hands full? They hadn’t really discussed scene-watching etiquette. 

Before he can make a decision, Earl says, in the same smooth and soothing tone, “Carlos, will you please hand me that quilt at the bottom of the bed? Thank you.”

And Cecil jumps, stares, brown eyes wide and shining with tears. He can’t blame them, honestly, he’d get lost in a scene like that too. They shiver and tear and stare at him, silent, suddenly—suddenly _afraid_.

“Come on, precious, come back. Settle down. You’re so cold—” Earl wraps the quilt around their shoulders, and they don’t move, they’re not even really looking at Carlos anymore, they’re looking _through_ him, staring at a fixed point on his chest. 

“Baby?” Earl says softly, and then, more firmly, “Cecil!” He snaps his fingers twice in front of their face and they jump again, look at him. “You’re okay. I’ve got you, you’re safe, everything will be okay. Do you trust me?”

They nod, just once.

“Thank you. It means so much that you trust me, precious. Why don’t you have another sip of water—”

They’re still shaking too badly to hold the glass, so Earl does it for them, tipping it into their mouth just a bit at a time, letting them swallow, then pulling them gently into his embrace, rocking them back and forth, back and forth against his chest. The shivering slows to sporadic twitches.

“Carlos,” Earl says, softer now. “There’s a tupperware in the fridge with a peeled clementine and some grapes, would you mind getting that for me?”

Carlos is on his feet before his brain can register what he’s heard; he nods and smiles, and, once outside the room, exhales heavily. Even with Cecil’s sudden drop, Carlos doesn’t regret sitting in—the scene was both devastatingly beautiful and _profoundly_ hot. Once downstairs he drinks cold water from the tap, rubs his eyes, tries not to think about Earl’s face, the sense of _mine_ , the calm, natural control he had over Cecil. _Your boyfriend is dropping like a brick from heaven,_ he tells himself firmly. _Deal with that first._

He returns to hasty whispering, suddenly silent when he opens the door. 

“Thank you,” Earl says, with a pleasant smile, and he opens the little container. “Do you want me to ask?” he says, and Cecil shrugs, looking down at Earl’s hands. 

“I need a yes or no, babe,” Earl says. 

They nod, lay back against his chest, eyes closed tight and hands over their ears. 

“It’s alright. You don’t have to worry about this. I’ve got you, I’ll take care of it, okay? I need you to eat now. I’ll help. I’ve got you.” He looks up at Carlos. “First of all—sorry, about being snappy earlier.” He picks up a grape and hold it against Cecil’s lip’s without breaking his conversational stride. “I get now what you were doing, and I respect it. And yeah, you don’t know me very well yet. And it’s reasonable to assume that the only cis guy in the house might not know what the fuck they’re doing with your boyfriend’s gender.” While Cecil chews, very slowly, Earl breaks the peeled clementine in half, pulls off a segment and gestures with it. “I’m not saying I’ll always get it right—although I’d never, ever hurt them intentionally, and I will do everything in my power to be as good as I can to them. But Cecil and I have a ton of history, and we’ve got a little greyscale code to help make sure I know where they are when we’re intimate. Sexually or otherwise. And no offense, but—”

—and he pauses, smiles when he sees where Carlos is looking. He looks at Cecil, tilts their face up towards his with a hand under their chin, and slips the bite of clementine past their lips. 

“Sorry,” Carlos blurts out suddenly. “I shouldn’t stare, I didn’t—”

“Don’t worry about it.” He smiles again, sincere and cheerful. “Anyway, I was saying—maybe I was out of line, but there have been a couple-few binary trans people talking shit about their gender and honestly I was a little worried we were gonna have a not-trans-enough fight when they verified what I was saying vees-ah-vee their gender at that particular moment.”

Carlos is following him, mostly, but isn’t sure if he should apologize or accept an apology. Maybe both? Frankly it’s hard to focus with that slow, content smile, contrasted with Cecil calming in his arms, letting themself be slowly hand-fed bits of fruit, still shy but not so afraid anymore. 

“So,” Earl says. “I’m sorry. And thank you for looking out for them. Although next time—maybe be a little more careful when you interrupt a scene.”

“Uh. Sure. Okay.” 

There is a moment of silence, Earl offering Cecil another grape, Cecil pressing one against his lips, their fingers clumsy. Earl laughs, pulls it gently out of their fingers, pops it into his mouth in their line of sight. “Sweet thing,” he says quietly. 

“Is that why—?” Carlos gestures towards the little ball of Cecil curled up to Earl’s chest. “Because I busted in like that?”

“Oh—no. That’s the next point, actually. Cecil—they were pretty out of it. In scene.”

And Cecil presses their hands over their ears, closes their eyes again. 

“And they were so lovely, and vulnerable, and trusting,” Earl says, quieter now. “It was really something. But they also kind of—didn’t realize how far under they were gonna go, when they asked you to sit in. They wanted you to see some of this—to understand this part of them. But—it was a lot. For them. And they—they’re worried you won’t want them anymore.”

Carlos looks away, at a spot just over Earl’s head, then back. “...What?” he says finally.

“It’s—okay—so they’re worried that seeing them submit like that would diminish your respect for them as a dom, that they’d lose you because they couldn’t give you what you wanted. I know. It’s—I know.” He shrugs, lowers his voice more. “You know they need—more attention, more things spelled out for them. So validate something they already know. Do you still want to be with them, and be submissive with them, having seen them switch?”

Their eyes are still shut tight, and they look like they’re in some pain. 

“They don’t want to hear you say it, in case you say no,” Earl explains softly.

“I absolutely want to be with them. I—yes.” Carlos takes a step toward the bed, and then halts, unsure of his welcome. He spares a glance for Earl before focusing his attention where it should be. “Ceec...”

Earl taps Cecil’s shoulder, and they give a soft sound of protest—but they look up at Carlos, expression tight, hands coming away from their ears.

“Of course I want to be with you,” he tells them. “Don’t you remember—that very first time, and we talked about—”  
“Faith,” Cecil says, and looks away.

“Evidence,” Carlos says. “I can’t do what you do, I don’t want to take that role. So maybe—maybe you don’t need me right now, but I want, if you’ll let me, I want to be close. Hold you and pet your hair. You take such good care of me, always—”

“But later,” Cecil says.

“It won’t make me think any differently about you,” Carlos insists. “It won’t make me stop believing in you—I _know_ you’re a good dom. I’m asking, Cecil.” He hopes the name, rather than the nickname, will catch their attention; he doesn’t dare try to load their name with everything it means in-scene, when his voice goes soft and high-pitched and pleading. He doesn’t know how this Cecil would respond to that, but they need to know that even now he’s still theirs—they’re still his dom. “Please, Cecil, let me do this for you.”

Their eyes are huge, like they’re waiting for the punchline, but Carlos refuses to give them one; he means what he’s saying down to his bones, his gut, his very marrow. They look to Earl, wide-eyed, seeking. Carlos can feel Earl’s gaze sweep over him, but he ignores it; his attention is where it needs to be. If Earl gives them some signal, Carlos doesn’t see it.

Finally, after a few seconds that feel like years, they reach out for him. Carlos takes the last step to reach them, takes their hand, lets them pull him in against them, almost across their lap—except that with how close they’re cuddled into Earl’s side, Carlos ends up tucked into his chest.

“Um,” he says, but doesn’t say anything else. He’ll lean on Earl if that’s where Cecil wants him—it’s not like it’s a hardship.

“Sorry I’m—” Cecil whispers, and then halts when Carlos leans in to kiss them. Not their mouth, not directly; it’s not his place to physically silence them. Just their cheek, just a reminder that he loves them, an invitation to decide if they really need to say what they’re saying.

“I’m not sorry,” he says, soft because they’re so close. He can feel Earl’s breathing, pushing him away and drawing him close again. “I’m honored, Cecil, I’m grateful. You let me see something beautiful, something precious and intimate; _thank_ you.” He glances up toward Earl; eye contact is too intimidating, and he hopes Earl doesn’t think him rude or insincere for avoiding it as he says, “You, too. That was your scene, too, and you don’t even know me—thank you for letting me in.”

“They wanted you,” Earl says, as though nothing else could matter. 

Cecil shrugs, nods, tugging Carlos in close, and he lets them, tucking his face into their neck. An arm wraps snug around his shoulders, but both of Cecil’s are tucked around his waist—but it’s only there a moment, and as it withdraws, Cecil swallows. 

“Pardon my reach,” Earl says, low and almost in Carlos’ ear. 

Carlos does his best not to shiver. He thinks he’s mostly successful. “Consider it pardoned,” he answers steadily. 

“Carlos,” Cecil says, and pauses; Carlos is too close to them to see their face, but there’s a question in their voice, and he guesses they’re looking to Earl for the answer. He can’t see Earl at all, doesn’t know Earl’s tells, certainly can’t interpret any signal he might be giving Cecil in answer. They go on, “You were watching—you didn’t get off, but we both—I mean—did you want to?”

“No!” Carlos is glad, now, to have his face already hidden in Cecil’s neck. “No, honey, that was—beautiful, that was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen, but it wasn’t for me, that—that was yours, I want that to just be yours.”

He thinks about it a moment later, imagines Cecil bringing him off right here, pressed up against Earl’s chest, while Earl watches them with those golden eyes set in that pale face. The thought doesn’t change his mind, but he knows it’ll feature in his fantasies for a long time. 

“Then—” Cecil loosens one arm from around Carlos’ waist, reaching; when they draw back there’s a question in their face and an clementine segment in their hand. “Let me...” Carlos meets their eyes and nods, lets his lips part in anticipation. 

They touch it to his mouth just lightly, and he meets their eyes and waits for them to give it to him. Only once they’ve slipped it entirely into his mouth does he close his lips and kiss their retreating fingertips, looking at them with all the trust, all the love, all the faith he has.


End file.
